


Kill Bill Cipher

by Fox_Salz



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, there's a lot of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 02:24:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7022749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_Salz/pseuds/Fox_Salz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick Sanchez used to be Bill’s prized assassin, but since his failed wedding and a four year coma Rick is going to Kill Bill Cipher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vol. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Geez, what even is my life now? I wrote over 9,000 words for a crack au for a pairing consisting of two old criminals from different shows. Anyway, presenting a fic based on @stanchez-sloppy-seconds ‘s Kill Bill au.

There was a ringing in Rick’s ears that was only overpowered by two other things: his labored breathing, and the heavy footsteps coming towards him.

Some wedding day.

Beaten and bloody, Rick couldn’t move as that bastard loomed above him. He glared up at the smirking demon and his stolen body. It was the face of Rick’s fiancé, Stanley Pines, but the yellow eyes of Bill Cipher. 

“You should have asked me to walk you down the aisle,” Bill joked, smacking Rick’s face with the barrel of Stanley’s gun, “since technically you’re mine to give away.”

Rick spat, though it didn’t go far. Bill cackled. He reached down with his other hand and placed it on Rick’s forehead as though checking his temperature.

“Wow! You humans sure can get hot. I bet I could fry on egg on your face!” He grinned with Stanley’s mouth, contorting it in a way that was unnatural for Stanley. Rick shivered. “Isn’t that a human proverb or something?”

Bill straightened. He kept the gun pointed directly at Rick. 

“Fuck you, Bi—“

Rick didn’t get to finish before there was a bang, then nothing.

——

Rick Sanchez was supposed to die. Somehow, Rick Sanchez did not. 

But he was going to.

Morty Smith strolled through the hospital with his head held high and the happiest grin on his young face. Bill had given him an important task. One that he was going to accomplish with  _relish_.

He found the room with a John Doe in a coma. An old man with a bruised face who would never wake up again.

As Morty walked towards the bed his hand subconsciously went to his eyepatch. Gingerly he ran a finger around its outline. There were so many thoughts and emotions bubbling up inside of him, but Morty shook them all away and focused on his task.

He opened his bag and took out both a needle and a small bottle. Morty stuck one with the other, slowly drew out the needed amount. Savoring it.

“This is better than you deserve, Rick,” he murmured to the comatose man. “Isn’t it funny? You pissed off Bill and he rewards you, in a way.  People in this line of work don’t get the luxury of going in our sleep. So, you’re welcome.”

Morty found the IV tube. He gently inserted the needle into it. Before he could give Rick the injection, however, his phone rang.   
  
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he cursed, taking out the needle and tossing it on the bed. Then, answering the call with a much calmer tone, he said, “Hello Bill.”

“How’s your grandpa doing?”

Grinning ruefully Morty told him, “Comatose. I’m with him right now. Just about to—” 

“Do nothing.”

Morty’s eyes widened. “What?”

“We owe him better than this.”

“We don’t owe him shit!” Morty screeched.

“Geez, kid, keep your voice down. You’ll wake the dead.” Bill snickered. “Listen, kid, you all beat the shit out of him, and I put a bullet in his head. And he’s still breathing. He’s a tough old meat bag, surviving everything we’ve done to him. And if he ever wakes up, we’ll see if he can do it all again.” Then Bill’s voice went from almost flippant to cold. “You got me?”

“Y-yes, Bill.”

“Great! Then I’ll see you at home. Why don’t you get an ice cream or something, my treat.”

“Alright, Bill. Thank you. Goodbye.”

Morty closed his phone. Then he rounded on the unconscious man.

“I bet you found that real fucking funny, huh?” When the man didn’t, couldn’t reply, Morty scowled. “You son of a bitch, Rick. I hope you never wake up.”

He didn’t, not for four years.

Rick came to with a start, the barrel of Stanley— _Bill’s_  gun still fresh in his mind.

He looked around wildly, looking for Bill, for  _Stanley_. This wasn’t Twins Pines Chapel, though. It was a hospital room.

Rick lifted his hand, ran it through his hair, and the IV tub plugged into him tickled his cheek. He went to pull it out but suddenly the door was opening. He quickly fell back onto the bed.

“This is him,” someone said, coming over to stand at the end of his bed. “He’s been here four years.” Someone else whistled. “No one’s claimed him, no one knows who he is. The chances of him being braindead are astronomical.”  
  
“Don’t be hard on yourself, doc. It sounds like this is for the best.”

“I suppose.” Some shuffling. Footsteps coming towards the machines he was hooked up to. “Just make it look natural.”

Then the door was closing, presumably as the doctor left. Rick listened as the other man walked around him, fiddling with this and that.

“Okay, old man, let’s get this show on the road. You just lay back, relax, and maybe you’ll see your family in heaven.”

Rick wanted to laugh. Instead he cracked open an eye. A man dressed in scrubs had his back turned to Rick, filling a syringe with something Rick had an inkling that he didn’t want in his body.

“Honestly,” the nurse continued, “this is for the best. Rooms are on high demand, you know, and it’s not like you’re going to get better. You’ll be doing some real good, too—you’re liver’s shot, but some your other organs can still be salv—“  
  
In a flash Rick had wrapped his IV around the man’s neck. Desperately he clawed at it with one hand, the other trying to keep the syringe away from his exposed skin.

“Where,” Rick hissed in his ear, “is Bill?”

“Wh-who?” the man choked out.

Rick squeezed the tubes tighter and repeated, “Where’s Bill?”

The nurse gasped and Rick eased off just enough for him to speak.

“I…I don’t know who Bill is.”

Rick slammed the man’s head into the nearby table. A metal tray went flying, it’s contents soaring through the air, and the man collapsed to the ground. The momentum took Rick off the side of the bed, as well. He landed pathetically next to the gasping nurse. Rick tried to stand but his legs were useless.

He crawled over to the nurse who brandished the syringe like a shield. Rick ripped it from his hand and jabbed it into the man’s thigh. He screamed.

“Oh, god, please! I’m so fucking sorry, I’m just following orders…”

“Aren’t we all.”

Rick grabbed the metal tray and smashed it repeatedly against the nurse’s—Buck, according to the name tag—face until it was an unrecognizable mess of blood and broken skin. Buck let out one last whimper, then slumped down. 

Rick searched his pockets, glancing at the door every two seconds. Finally he found what he needed: car keys.

He held them up and looked at the overly large, gaudy keychain. It read “Pussy Wagon” in neon pink colors. Sounded like his kind of ride.

Quickly he stripped himself and replaced his hospital gown with the nurse’s scrubs. Legs still uncooperative it took far longer than it should have. Time he didn’t need to risk taking. Finally, though, he was dragging himself to the door and peering out cautiously.

The hallway was empty. But there was a wheelchair just sitting out unattended. What do you know, a bit of good luck.

Rick crawled to it and pulled himself onto the chair. Then he wheeled himself around the practically deserted hospital. No one gave him a second look; Rick had learned long ago that if you do something with confidence people didn’t question you.

He found the parking lot relatively fast. Now he just had to figure out which car was the Pussy Wagon.

Probably the truck that had those exact words scrawled on the tailgate.

Classy.

Rick unlocked the truck and pulled himself into the backseat with a grunt. It took a lot of effort, but after a few minutes he managed to position himself as best he could across the red leather interior. He stared down at his legs and willed them to move. 

“Move, you son of a  _bitch_ ,” Rick hissed, eyes narrowing. “Move!”

He took a deep breath and tried to focus on something small: wiggling his big toe. If he could just get the ball rolling…

He couldn’t help thinking about everything that had happened. The doctor had said four years. Bill possessed his fiancé, shot him in the head, and he had been fucking comatose for four years.

And all he had wanted was to get married.

Rick could see the faces of the bastards who had done this to him as clear as if they were still standing above him. They were all members of The Deadly Viper Assassination Squad. Ruthless, well trained killers all under Bill Cipher’s thumb. Just like Rick had been.

First there was Unity, an alien hive mind. And an ex of Rick’s, so maybe its part in all this was more understandable. It could control the sentience of eighty-nine different creatures at a given time, hence why Unity’s main body persona was guarded by the Crazy 88s. 

Then there was a skeevy asshole named Zeep Xanflorp. Intelligent enough to impress Bill, but stupid enough to piss Rick off the moment they met. They had been constantly at each other’s throats whenever they were forced to work together, Bill’s intervening the only thing that had kept them from finishing the other off.

The one he knew the least about was Gideon Gleeful. He was a child. Literally. But what he lacked in age he made up in ruthlessness. Rick had only known him for a little under a year, but had to admire what he’d seen. Gideon was a kid with a classic southern drawl that could give the orders to kill in the same voice he’d use to offer a houseguest lemonade.

Morty was his grandson. His actual flesh and blood, a kid he had held as a baby, a kid who had hated Rick no matter what he did. A kid who had worn a look of euphoria when he kicked Rick repeatedly in the ribs.

Finally was Bill Cipher, a demon that squirmed his way into their dimension by lies and manipulation. He wanted the world, he wanted chaos, he wanted obedience. And in the end, Rick didn’t give him that. Oh, Rick had given Bill decades of his life and skills, and his family, but then he diverged from Bill’s set path. Then Bill possessed Stanley and shot him in the goddamn head.

But the joke was on Bill, because his toe just flinched. Rick smirked.

“Hard p-p-part’s over.”

Thirteen hours later Rick was able to step down from the truck and walk to the driver’s side. Then he was barreling out of there in the Pussy Wagon. 

By the end of the day he knew he had to make arrangements to get off planet—to the last known whereabouts of one Stanford Pines.

——

The quaint restaurant was small and tucked away. It was a little novelty place, genuine human food served by genuine Earth born men. Behind the counter was a bearded guy with a friendly smile. Not who he was looking for.

“Howdy, stranger. Come in,” the man beckoned.

Rick came over, dropped his bag on a stool. Casually he leaned on the counter.

“The name’s Fiddleford, stranger. What can I gettcha?”  
  
“Rick. Sur-surprise me.”

“Alright, Rick, house special coming right up.” Fiddleford started preparing something behind the counter. Rick didn’t pay too much attention, craning his neck to try and see into the back rooms. “You’re obviously not a native. Doing some traveling?”  
  
“Yup. And just more to come.”

“Business or pleasure?” 

“Bit of both.”

“Well isn’t that lucky,” Fiddleford commented, and he had such an open face Rick couldn’t help but chuckle. He produced a few drink choices; Rick pointed to the alcohol.

“Actually,” Rick started as the other man poured, “right now I’m looking for someone.”

“Oh? Meeting up with a friend?”

Rick chuckled. “More like family, almost. His name’s Sixer.”  
  
Fiddleford visibly stiffened. When he put the shot glass in front of Rick his hand was shaking.

“What…” He swallowed and tried again. “What do you want with Stanford?”

“First I should probably congratulate him on missing my wedding,” Rick mused. “Lucky bastard. So, why don’t you get him?”

Fiddleford took a nervous step back. Without taking his eyes off Rick he called out for Stanford.

“Ford! Ford, dear, would you please come out here for a minute?”

“What is it, Fidds?” Stanford hollered back from the other room. “I’m in the middle of someth—“

“Stanford, get your ass out here this instant!”  
  
That did the trick. A man hurried out of the back room, a man who looked nearly identical to Stanley Pines save the six fingers on each hand. He paused mid-step when he laid eyes on Rick.

“You’re dead.”

Rick straightened and put a hand on his hip. He smirked at Ford’s gobsmacked expression.  
  
“I’m Rick fucking Sanchez. Y-y-you really think I’d go down without a f-fight?”

Stanford was at his side in the blink of an eye. For a second Rick thought he was about to be embraced by his would’ve-been brother-in-law; instead Ford produced a flashlight out of nowhere and was shining it directly in his eyes.

“Ah, goddamn it, Pines. This is why I liked Stanley better.”

Stanford backed up a step, pocketing the light. His mouth was set in a grim line.

“It’s really you, Rick.”

“No shit. Don’t, don’t look so disappointed.”

Ford took a deep breath, adjusted his glasses, and looked away. It took him a few attempts to speak again, having to swallow down a lump.

“I’m sorry I missed the wedding. I got caught up in a project, became a day behind. I called Stan, explained we’d be late—“

Rick held up a hand, cutting the other man off. “Yeah, it’s a good thing you fucked up.”

Ford clenched his hand into a tight fist. Rick saw his knuckles turn white. He could read the guilt all over Ford.

“Yes, it was lucky we were late, at least for the children’s sake. If Bill got a hold of them…”

“Then Morty would have had a couple unwilling playmates,” Rick finished.

Fiddleford cleared his throat purposefully, reminding the other two that he was there.

“Ford, darlin’, correct me if I’m wrong, but this is the man that was supposed to marry your brother? And is supposed to be dead?”

“Uh, yes. Rick, this is my partner Fiddleford. Fiidds, this is Rick Sanchez. Also known as Black Mamba.”

“Well, Rick Sanchez, you might as well come and have that drink, and maybe explain how you managed to cheat death.”

Rick went back over to the counter, Ford taking the stool next to him. In one fluid movement Rick threw his head back, downed the shot, and slammed it upside down on the counter.

He told them about being in a coma, and his plans.

“First, I’m going to get those bastards that betrayed me. Then I’m going to kill Bill.”

“All on your lonesome?” Fiddleford asked softly, pouring him another shot.

“Never fuck me over, Fiddlesticks. I hold grudges.”

“And what if you die before you get to Bill?”

Rick took the second shot, slammed the glass back down. “Well, it’s not— _urp_ —not like I got anything else to live for.”

“So,” Ford said slowly, “I can guess why you tracked me down.” 

He stood and motioned for Rick to follow him. Fiddleford staid behind, and Rick could feel the other man’s eyes on him as he followed Stanford. 

Ford took him up a narrow set of stairs that led to a large, dusty room. There were random odds and ends strewn about, but what caught Rick’s eye was the far wall. It was lined from one side to the other with swords, the majority katanas. Reverently he approached them, taking one off the rack. He glanced back at Ford who nodded, then carefully unsheathed the weapon. He admired the six fingered insignia on its hilt.

Rick couldn’t read the emotions flashing through Ford’s eyes as he tested the sword. It felt natural in his hands, like a missing limb miraculously returned. Ford knew his stuff, Rick had to give him that.

“So what are you going to do?”

“Like I said, kill Bill.” He punctuate the statement with another slice through the air.

“Lofty goals. I meant how.”

Rick stopped and turned to Stanford. “I need a sword.”

“I vowed never to make an instrument of killing again. I…I’ve done enough to last more than just my lifetime.”

“Then give me one of t-these. You’ve got plenty.”

Ford shook his head and Rick could feel the anger bubbling up inside of him.

“He killed your g-g-goddamn twin, Ford!” Stanford flinched, but Rick didn’t relent. “He tricked you into opening this world up to him, he played you like a fucking flute! You have some obligation here, y-you know. Besides, don’t you want your own revenge? Don’t you want the satisfaction of taking that demented tortilla chip out?”

Ford took a deep breath and pushed his glasses up. He didn’t say a word as he turned away from Rick and walked over to the little fogged window. He pressed a finger against the glass and made three deliberate lines—down, right, up. He gazed at his creation for a long moment. Rick shifted from foot to foot impatiently, only stilling when the other man let out a heavy sigh.

“I’ll do it. But I need one month to get everything ready.” He glanced back at Rick. “I suggest you use that time to prepare. You’re free to stay here.”

Rick gave a single nod in thanks. When Ford had retreated downstairs he went over to the window. Brow furrowing, he reached up and wiped away the triangle the other man had drawn.

——

“Dipper, move! I want to see!”

“Sh, Mabel! You’re being too loud. Don’t blow our cover.”

Rick rolled his eyes but kept on practicing. After a four year coma it was no surprise that he needed to get his body back into proper motion. Every day since Ford had relented Rick had come out to Fiddleford’s enclosed garden and pushed himself until his body was in absolute agony. Then he pushed harder.

And every day Stanford’s grand niblings would sneak out here to watch him from where they thought they couldn’t be detected. They weren’t trained assassins, however, while Rick was. He could tell when they came and went.

He never ran them off, though. He probably should, but he didn’t. It sent a pang of nostalgia and regret shooting through his chest every time. Rick didn’t need that sort of distraction.

“Get your stupid hat out of the way!”

“Don’t touch it!”

The siblings kept bickering and soon enough they came tumbling out of their hiding spot, falling unceremoniously at Rick’s feet. He had been mid strike, but suddenly forced the blade to stop inches away from the top of their little heads.

For a second all three just looked at each other. Then looks of alarm turned into awe as the kids jumped up and started talking over each other.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh!”

“That was so amazing!”

“You’re flippin’ cool!”

“Such precision, whoa!”

Rick sheathed the katana, quirking an eyebrow at the exuberant twins. “Geez, kids, breath.”

Dipper took a deep breath and Mabel cleared her throat. She took a step towards him.

“So, Mr. Sword Guy—“

“Ju— _urp_ —ust call me Rick.”

This encouraged them. They crowded Rick, eyes bright and trusting and the pang intensified.

“Do you need anything?” Dipper asked hopefully.

“Water? Company?” his sister added. She gave him a look that only kids who wanted something could. For a minute he could see the face of his own daughter, young and eager and desperate for his attention.

“Eh, why the hell not,” Rick replied nonchalantly. “I was about to take a break anyway.”

Rick went over and sat down on the bench Fiddleford had warned him in no uncertain terms not to damage; the twins followed him. They sat down in front of Rick, probably so they could have a good look at the man. 

“So how’s your workout?” Mabel asked.

“Fantastic,” Rick told her.

The kids just gazed up at him and he gazed down at them. Finally Rick leaned back. He tossed an arm on top of the bench’s back, rubbing the wood idly.

He really didn’t know how to talk to kids that didn’t want to murder him.

“We were wondering, Rick,” the boy started nervously, “if you don’t mind…”

“Can we watch you practice your cool moves?  _Please_?”

“We promise not to get in the way.”

“I’m pretty sure your grunkle would have a heart attack,” Rick said, and the kids’ faces fell. He leaned in conspiratorially. “Sounds good to me.”

The kids giddily took Rick’s place on the bench while he went back to practicing. Maybe he showed off a little, and when the kids asked questions or requested him to repeat a particularly awesome technique he did. Always good to give the fans what they wanted.

When Fiddleford called them in for dinner Rick watched the twins race inside, laughing and teasing each other. Unbidden, fantasies of could-have-beens flashed through his mind. Seeing his daughter’s childhood, bonding with his grandkids. He could even imagine Stanley next to him, calling out to the twins fondly and interlocking their arms as they followed them in.

Somewhere out in the multiverse there was a version of him that wasn’t a complete fuck up. Of course, that him would have to be so removed from him—so un-Rick—that it didn’t even count as him.

Suddenly Mabel and Dipper were running back over to him. Each sibling took one of Rick’s arms and started dragging him towards the door.

“Come on, Rick!”

“Yeah, Grunkle Fidds made gumbo. It’s weird but really good.”

Rick could have easily shrugged them off, being an adult let alone Black fucking Mamba. But what the hell? Gumbo didn’t sound half bad.

——

The days went by like that. Rick kept training and the twins kept joining him whenever they could. Sometimes he’d catch Ford watching half hidden in the doorway. Once the light had hit him just right—he looked almost like Stanley—and Rick had felt bile rise in this throat. Thankfully he managed to choke it down. After that his swings got more aggressive.

“Woo! That was great, Rick!” Dipper cheered.

“Yeah! Slice that dummy in half!”

Mabel was standing on the bench, pumping her fists triumphantly. Dipper was on the edge of his seat, mouth hanging open.

Rick took Mabel’s request to heart; another strike and the dummy was torn open, its innards flying through the air. He stood there, breathing heavy, as a cloud of sawdust engulfed him.

He didn’t realize the twins had gone quiet. He was lost in rage and a need for Bill to be at the end of his blade. He could see it clearly, the fear that would be in his eyes when Bill realized he should have made sure Rick was dead.

Then there was a little hand tugging on his sleeve.

Rick looked down at the concerned faces of the twins. They glanced at each other, silently communicating. Mabel spoke up.

“Hey, uh, Rick, why don’t you take a quick breather?”

With one more peek at the destroyed target he went over to the bench. Mabel took a seat next to him while her brother opted for the grass at their feet. 

“Were you thinking of Bill?” Mabel asked, making Rick start. 

That was a surprise. He had been under the impression that the kids were being kept in the dark. Ford had said something about not wanting to cause them any distress, but Rick had a feeling he didn’t want to give the kids any false hope.

“How much do you two know?”

Another secret sibling look. Dipper answered.

“We know you were going to marry our Grunkle Stanley, until  _Bill_  killed him.” Rick admired the bite he used on the demon’s name.

“We were only eight when it happened, so we don’t remember him too much, but he would tell us the best bedtimes stories.”

Dipper nodded solemnly and added, “He taught us how to fish and play poker.”

“And he let me braid his hair whenever he went too long without cutting it.”

“He gave me my hat.” Dipper touched the brim, lowering it just an inch. 

“S-s-s-Stanley was, was a good man,” Rick said. The kids made twin sounds of agreement.

“That’s why Grunkle Ford is helping you,” Mabel told him. “Because you loved Grunkle Stanley, and you’re going to give that demon what he deserves!”

“Yeah! You have to stop Bill so he can’t hurt anyone else!”

“You can do it, Rick.” Mabel took his hand in both of hers. “We believe in you.”

That kind of conviction was more than he deserved. Goddamn it, they reminded him so much of Stanley. When a Pines believes in you, they believe with all their heart. Even if they should know better.

Rick looked them each in the eye and promised, “I’m g-gonna crush that stupid triangle.”

——

It was a good night for stargazing. Of course, Rick’s version of stargazing apparently meant drinking while gazing moodily up at the sky. 

“Sanchez.”

Stanford’s voice cut through the stillness of the night. Rick lazily turned to him.

“Should you really be drinking right now?

Rick glared up at him. Stanford just stood there with the mien of an aggravated father. 

“I hate your face,” Rick said finally, setting the half empty bottle down.

“You hate that it’s my face and not his,” Stanford corrected. He adjusted his glasses in the same way Stanley would, and Rick wondered if he was aware of that.

“I also hate your voice.”

Now Ford smirked. “That’s all me.”

Rick pushed himself to his feet, ignored how his head spun momentarily. It was nothing he couldn’t handle.

Every night, away from the kids’ prying eyes, Stanford overlooked Rick practicing a secret technique the former had created. A technique that would remove Bill from whatever body he was possessing without damage to the host, leaving him vulnerable to Rick’s sword. It had taken him years of research and calculations, and digging into ancient texts Bill had thought he’d destroyed all copies of, to complete it. Of course, now he could never get close enough to Bill to use it himself.

But if anyone had a chance, it was Rick.

He watched Rick repeat the motions again and again. He was getting better, but Stanford knew that this wasn’t how he wanted to get his revenge. There was a cold rage in his eyes, and he had no qualms taking one innocent life if it meant Bill was officially dead. 

Stanford’s fists clenched behind his back. When Rick came face-to-face with Bill at last he would need this technique. Or else Rick wouldn’t be able to take the killing blow. In his younger years Black Mamba wouldn’t have hesitated, but this Rick was far removed from that remorseless assassin Stanford had once known.

“Rick, I know you’ll kill Bill. But I can’t help but wonder if you can do the same to your family.”

Rick, to his credit, didn’t falter. He went through the motions until he had finished, then stood up straight. He kept his back to Stanford, voice gruff when he finally answered.

“I’ll do w-w-what I fucking have to, Ford.”

Stanford didn’t challenge him, and Rick continued practicing.

——

Mabel tossed another baseball up into the air and Rick easily cut it down. The kids whooped excitedly. Dipper threw a a curve ball next, or at least an attempt at a curve ball. He didn’t exactly have a strong arm. 

Rick sliced the ball cleanly in half and Mabel hollered, “Another home run for Rick Sanchez!”

Fiddleford’s son, Tate, came out with another box of balls. The man shook his head at the carnage, but didn’t say anything; he had been enabling them, supplying the three with fresh baseballs for this new twist on an American classic.

Before Mabel could start the next inning there was a gasp from the doorway. Everyone turned to see Fiddleford staring open-mouthed at his once pristine garden.

“Want to play, Grunkle Fidds?” Mabel asked, holding the ball out for him.

The man sighed, shaking his head slowly. “No, darlin’, thank you. ‘M afraid I have to cut this game short. Stanford’s lookin’ for you, Rick.”

The twins groaned in disappointment as Rick followed the other man. Then he heard them arguing over who got to be the next batter before their voices faded away.

“Sword’s ready?” Rick guessed.

“Well, that’s been ready for a minute,” Fiddleford admitted. “Stanford was just waiting for you to be ready.”

Rick figured he was alluding to the exorcism punch. He had finally performed to Stanford’s standards the other night, and had repeatedly proven he had it down.

Fiddleford led him to a nearly empty room Rick had never been in. Stanford knelt in the middle, sword in his hands. Fiddleford motioned for Rick to sit across from him while he took his own place by Stanford’s side.

Stanford lifted the katana and unsheathed it just in inch, revealing the six fingered insignia. Rick took in the sight, anticipation swelling in his chest. Then reverently Stanford uncovered the rest of the weapon. Fiddleford took the sheath, eyes never leaving his partner. Rick watched hungrily as he showed off the craftsmanship, turning the blade around and checking the balance. 

“I’ve done what I swore never to do again,” Stanford murmured somberly. “But in doing so, I’m fulfilling a vow I made even before that—to get rid of Bill once and for all.” 

Fiddleford held out the sheath for him, and once more the blade disappeared. He looked Rick right in the eye, the first time he had glanced away from the katana.

“It’s not my ego that’s telling you this is my finest sword yet. If on your journey you encounter a creature claiming to be a god,” and here the ghost of a smile appeared on his stern face, “that god will be cut.”

He presented the katana to Rick who took it wordlessly. 

“Go. For Stanley.”

“For Stanley,” Rick agreed with a small bow.

——

Rick had his bag slung over one shoulder and the katana secured at his side. He was getting ready to walk out of the restaurant for the last time, but suddenly two little creatures were standing in his way.

“Rude!” Mabel chastised, hands on hips. Rick quirked an eyebrow. “You were just going to leave without saying goodbye?”

“We know you have to go, but, well, we were kinda hoping…” Dipper trailed off, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

“What is it, kid?”

“What my bro is trying to get at, is that you can’t leave until we give you our present. I knitted it myself,” Mabel said proudly, producing a sweater seemingly out of nowhere. She pressed it to the man’s chest and he had no option but to take it. He opened it up and saw that on the front were the words: Grunkle Rick.

“I tried to tell her we couldn’t just call you grunkle, we should ask first, but you know how Mabel is.” Dipper rolled his eyes, pretending to play it cool. Rick noticed how he nervously rubbed his arm, though.

“Try it on!”

“It’s l-like a hundred degrees out there, kid,” Rick tried.

“Too bad! You’re not leaving until you put it on, mister.”

“Whatever,” Rick groused, setting his things down so he could pull the sweater over his head. It was surprisingly soft.

“You look great!”

“Do you like it?” Dipper asked.

“Yeah, yeah, if it’ll shut you two up.”

Then the kids were hugging him tightly. Rick froze, unsure what to do. He couldn’t even pry them off; his arms were trapped by their affection.

“Come back to us, okay? Promise us.”

Rick hesitated for second. The twins looked up at him, eyes glistening. He could feel guilt forming in the pit of his stomach.

“S-s-s-sure, kids. I’ll be back. Make, make sure you keep Fidds and Ford on their toes.”

Both smiling they let him go. They watched Rick walk off, waving and calling out goodbyes until he was out of view.

Rick, for his part, made a note not to break this promise like he’d broken so many others.

——

On another alien planet, in a quiet little suburb, Rick was parked in the Pussy Wagon. There was a knife strapped to his thigh, just a little something he had picked up because Zeep Xanflorp wasn’t worth dulling his katana with. No, he was saving that for bigger targets.

Which this little son of a bitch was going to help him find.

Rick got out of the wagon and walked up to the door. He knocked, waited. Soon the door opened.

“Can I he—“

“Peace between worlds,” Rick interjected, both middle fingers held up high.

Zeep tried to slam the door back shut, but Rick had already slid his foot into the doorway. He muscled his way inside, backing Zeep up to the middle of the living room.

“Oh, wow, look at you. All alive and not even mad about what happened,” Zeep said nervously.

Rick narrowed his eyes and advanced on the other man. Zeep yelped, flinching.

“I mean, obviously you’re upset, Rick! And you have every right to be. But not at me.”

“You stomped on my g-goddamn nuts!”

“I was under orders!” Zeep protested. “You know how it is.”

“You said ‘I always wanted to do this, Rick’.”

Zeep retreated two steps for every one Rick took towards him. He knocked into a small table, automatically reaching out to steady it.

“Listen, Rick, I know we’ve had our differences, but I can help you.”

“Help me how?”

In a flash Zeep flicked his wrist, a throwing knife sailing through the air. “Help you back into your grave, bitch!”

Rick dropped and rolled to the side, and the knife embedded itself into the far wall. He gave Zeep an unimpressed frown as he got to his feet.

Zeep was trapped, Rick standing between him and any exits. Rick’s fist connected with his green face and he stumbled back.

“F-f-fucking great aim, d-douchebag!”

He let out an exclamation of pain, clutching his jaw. Then with a yell he lunged at Rick, taking the human by surprise. They landed on the floor with a thud. Zeep clawed at his eyes. Rick grabbed the alien’s wrists and managed to push him off.

Zeep attempted to scramble up, but Rick kicked out, foot colliding with the other man’s ankle and making him drop back down with a cry. Fast as a snake Rick struck out, head butting Zeep. He was momentarily dazed and Rick took advantage of that. He pushed Zeep down and straddled him, trapping Zeep’s arms between his knees.

“You piece of shit!” Rick yelled, punching Zeep. He kept talking and he kept hitting. “The fuck even is all this? Everyone else is allowed to go off and do whatever the fuck they want, but I try to get married and my fiancé gets murdered?”

The bastard had the audacity to  _laugh_. The sound was gruff, and choked out through blood, but the sound was unmistakable. Rick stopped and stared down at him incredulously. 

“You think that’s funny?” Rick murmured. Then, voice rising to a scream he repeated, “You think that’s funny!”

Rick jumped to his feet, dragging Zeep up with him. He tossed Zeep onto the glass coffee table which shattered. Zeep tried to pull himself up, cutting himself all over.

Rick grabbed him again, this time twisting Zeep’s arm behind his back. Zeep grunted as Rick leaned into his ear.

“Y-you want to help me, motherfucker? I know how you can do that.”

With his free hand Rick took out his knife. He pressed the blade against one of Zeep’s fingers.

“Rick, what are you doing? I need those!”

“Then answer correctly, bitch! First question, where is everyone?”

“That’s a little vague, isn’t it?” Rick started to slice, breaking skin. “Gideon and Unity are both on earth!” 

Rick drew the knife back. “Keep going.”

“Both your daughter and granddaughter are with Unity. Morty is with Bill.”

“That’s a little vague, isn’t it?” Rick mocked, pushing the blade in deeper than before.

“Fuck! Earth is a shitty planet, you think I know the names of places? You think I even care what those losers are ever up to?” The knife kept going in. “Ah! Wait, wait! I do know how you can find Unity, I swear! I have its coordinates written down in my lab. I’ll take you to it, just please,  _stop_.”

It sounded a little too convenient. Regardless, Rick removed his knife and yanked Zeep up. He kept a hold on the smarmy alien while he led Rick to the back of the house. 

“It’s just in that drawer. The code is 4-9-5.”

Zeep craned his neck back to look at Rick expectedly. Rick, meanwhile, studied the keypad. It was strange that he used a human numerical system. Also, he just plain didn’t trust the guy.

“You do it,” Rick instructed, pushing him forward.

Rick watched as Zeep, sure enough, punched in a different code. 

“Here it is. It’s all written in code, so—“

And then Zeep was shooting at him. In one smooth motion Rick dodged to the left and threw his knife; it struck Zeep in the chest and the alien fell lifeless to the ground.

Rick came over, nudged the corpse with his foot, then scooped up the papers. Jesus Christ, they really were in code. 

Still. That was one name crossed off the list. Time to go back to his home planet.

——

Even before his wedding massacre Beth hadn’t been…fond of Rick. Part of him could understand; he had knocked up her mother and then scrammed, after all. When she was a teen she had managed to track him down. He always suspected Bill had some hand in that. Who knew with that demented tortilla chip. 

Rick hadn’t been a good father. He was always off on missions for Bill, and when he was around he quickly learned he didn’t know how to interact with Beth. So he didn’t. In turn, she interacted with Unity. 

Unity sent her to school to become its lawyer while Un worked on its own goals. Which apparently it had accomplished while Rick was busy in that coma. It had assimilated eighty-eight tough as balls fighters, and fought its way up to heading the Yakuza. Beth was in fact its lawyer, and even richer—Beth’s daughter was Unity’s personal bodyguard at only seventeen years old.

Wasn’t he a proud grandpa?

Tokyo was crowded, but Unity wasn’t hard to track down. With all that power why make yourself scarce? Tonight it, several of the collective, Beth, and Summer were in a nice restaurant with their own private room on the upper floor.

When they got there Rick was already at the bar. 

Right now he was standing behind the sliding paper doors. Just on the other side was his next step to Bill.

Suddenly a knife came whirling out of the room, ripping a slit in the door and whizzing right past his ear. He reacted quick, grappling the wall and pulling himself up to the bars across the ceiling. He wedged his feet between one bar and the ceiling, hands gripping onto another for dear life as the door was thrust open.

A familiar bob of red hair popped out.  _Summer_.

She looked around. Finding nothing she returned to her mistress.

Rick was about to lower himself down when the door opened again and out came another familiar form. She was blonde, older, and the product of Rick’s reckless sexual habits. 

Beth went down the stairs and turned a corner. He followed after her at a safe distance. He saw her enter a room at the end of the hall, counted to ten, then slid into the bathroom. She was facing away from him, focusing on the phone up to her ear and whoever she was talking to. Patiently he waited, sizing her up.

A flash of memory came unbidden to Rick, of four years ago. She had stood near the chapel’s piano, chattering away on her phone. Some business call, he assumed. She had hardly glanced his way while the others followed Bill’s orders gleefully. 

A click of the phone shutting and abrupt silence brought Rick back to the present.

“Hello, sweetie.”

Rick reveled in the way Beth froze. Though she was still turned away he could see the terror in her eyes from the mirror. Good to know she hadn’t lost all her common sense.

Beth was a fighter—naturally, she was a Sanchez—but while she could hold her own against a common thug she did most of her fighting via words and manipulation. For Rick it wasn’t difficult at all to subdue her and lead her back out to the main floor. He might have hit her a little harder than intended across the face, since a bit of blood trickled out the side of her mouth. Tough love, or something like that.

The patrons all stared at him like deer caught in headlights. Even the live band fell quiet. Rick paid them no mind as he yelled out for his real target.

“Unity! I’ve got s-s-some unfinished business with you!”

The door was thrown open and several of Unity’s collective scrambled out. Then its main body sauntered out dressed in a fine white kimono. Step in step with it was Summer.

It mouthed his name, shock all over its face. Rick couldn’t hide his smirk.

“Impressive collection, Un. You—urp—really know how to pick ‘em.”

Its eyes softened and Rick swore Unity gazed at him with a fondness in those stolen eyes. A coil of rage snapped inside of him and with one swift arch of the katana he severed his daughter’s arm.

Chaos broke out. Beth screamed, blood spurting everywhere and staining the dance floor. Unity’s collection drew their weapons. The other patrons started to stampede out, their shouts of fear mixing with Beth’s pained cries. 

Rick ignored all that, eyes fixed on Unity’s. He stepped forward, stopped below the railing where they stood, and waited.

Unity sent out a single one of her assimilated goons, to test the waters Rick guessed. In under ten seconds it was impaled on his sword.

“Wow, real impressive, Un.”

The remaining five assimilations charged down the stairs. Three tried to circle Rick, each attacking at once while the last two hung back. They didn’t put up much of a challenge. Rick raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

The other assimilations approached him cautiously, swords in front of them at the ready. Their attack was less wild, more deliberate. Still, Rick matched them blow for blow. He sliced one across the abdomen, kicked it aside. The final puppet swung out at Rick, but he buried his sword in its heart and twisted.

“What’s the matter, Un? Can’t keep up with me anymore?”

Rick turned back to Unity Prime, smirking. Its expression was unreadable, but Rick wouldn’t have cared if Unity wore its heart on its sleeve at this point.

“Hi, grandpa!” a cheery voice greeted. 

Rick’s head snapped to the stairs on the other side where Summer was leisurely descending. Now that was a happy, go-lucky smile. She carried a long chain with a small spike ball on the end. It swung threateningly with each movement.

“C-christ, Summer. Haven’t you grown up.”

“Aww, thank you, Black Mamba.”

Rick inched closer to the staircase as she kept coming down.

“Heard a lot about you, Summer. You’ve really gotten quite the reputation.”

“I try,” the girl giggled almost bashfully.

“Summer, I know you think you’ve got to protect your mistress, but do you know what Unity did to grandpa?”

Summer stopped, expression icing over. She went from looking like a teenager to the merciless killer Rick knew she unfortunately was.

“What about what you did to Unity,  _grandpa_?” She spat the familial term out like a curse. “You broke Un’s heart! It was devastated when you were supposedly dead. Then, when Bill told us you had really run off with that…that tramp…” Summer smirked with aggravating pride. “Luckily I was there to pick up the pieces.”

Rick spared the hive mind a sideways glance. “You get off on little girls now?”

For the first time Unity spoke. “I assure you, Rick, until very recently the relationship I had with Summer was chaste.”

Summer’s smugness only grew. “I love Unity better than you ever did.”

Rick rolled his eyes. “Wow, Summer, so proud of yourself. L-like that was something hard to accomplish.”

Now the girl scowled. She strode down the last few steps, stopped just a few feet away from Rick. Swinging, she raised the meteor hammer above her head.

“Let’s see how good you are at begging, Rick.”

“Summer, you don’t have to do this, please,” he said, even as he readied himself.

Another giggle then, “Oh, silly, you can do better than that.”

She advanced; Rick matched her step for step. With a precise flick of her wrist the ball lashed out at Rick, and he narrowly avoided having his face crushed in. She knew how to wield her weapon, that was for sure.

Summer swung at him again and again. He deflected strike after strike, but she was relentless. The further back she pushed him the wider her grin got.

Blood slicked the dance floor, and Rick stepped in a pool of it. He slid just a fraction, but it was enough of an opening for Summer. The ball came straight out and collided with Rick’s chest. Wind knocked out of him, he stumbled back. Before Rick could recover the chain had wrapped around his katana. Summer yanked it out of his grasp and tossed it across the room.

Rick kicked over a table and dove for cover. The hammer pierced through the wood like it was butter, though. Groaning at his luck, Rick made a mad dash for his katana. Summer chased him down, but somehow the hammer zoomed past him.

He grabbed the hilt and rolled to the side just as the hammer yet again came careening towards him. It smashed into the ground where Rick had just been. 

Back on his feet in an instant he stared his granddaughter down. Rick had to admire the cool concentration in her eyes that matched his own when he had been Black Mamba. It was amazing how well she had taken to this lifestyle.

There was a pang in his chest he blamed on the hammer.

“What do you think, grandpa?” Summer asked coyly, showing off a rather impressive twirl, never losing control of her weapon. It was a killer’s dance, alright. 

Summer threw the hammer at him. He hit it away, sending it flying behind her where it hit a wooden pillar and bounced off, striking Summer in the back of the head. Dazed, the girl fell.

Rick came at her, but she was back up before he could attack. With a press of a button circular blades popped out on the ball. She sent it sailing towards him, nicking Rick’s shoulder. 

“Just full of tricks, aren’t you, Summer?”

In answer she flung the ball at him, sweeping the chain so it wrapped around his neck before the ball embedded itself into another pillar. Rick dropped the katana and pulled at the chain. Summer simply yanked back, tightening its vice grip on Rick’s windpipe.

As oxygen left him and his face started turning blue Rick fell to his knees. He eyed a splintered board with nails sticking out at the end—debris from the fight. It was just in reach.

Rick centered all his strength and grabbed the board. He smashed it against Summer’s foot, nails easily piercing the flimsy fabric of her shoes. She shrieked, grip loosening just enough for Rick to free himself.

He rushed at Summer, board held high ready to strike. The bloodied nails shimmered.

Rick faltered.

There was fear in her eyes. Her  _young_  eyes. He thought of the twins, imagined Mabel in Summer’s place. When he had last seen her she had been their age.Unity had already been training her, but she hadn’t been a killer yet. 

His reveries were broken as Summer uppercutted him. Brow furrowing, Rick switched the board around so the nails weren’t pointed at Summer, then brought it down on her temple. She crumpled to the floor.

Rick nudged her. Her leg twitched, but that was it. Her eyes had rolled to the back of her head. He checked; her breathing was shallow, but she was breathing none-the-less.

“Y-y-you still turned, turned out better than your dad,” he muttered.

He exchanged wood for steel before turning his attention back to Unity.

“Any more toys for me to break, Un?”

It was funny, Rick used to be able to tell what Unity was thinking. They had always been close and, honestly, part of Rick had loved it. Still did, probably. 

Now whatever was going through that deadly little head was a mystery to Rick. Which was fine with him—vindictive bitch had taken the man he loved away from him.

He wanted to go after Unity then and there, but the sound of revving engines stopped him. Un had called in reinforcements.

The rest of the hive mind came bursting in. The Crazy 88s—minus a few— swarmed around Rick, completely encircling him. 

He felt something familiar bubbling up inside of him. It was both warm and cool, a sensation that was an oxymoron yet couldn’t be described any other way. Rick held up his sword and got into a fighting stance. 

It all passed in a blur as Rick fought the hive mind puppets. They threw everything at him, but he had slipped back into his old ways. He was a snake, this was his territory, and these were unsuspecting prey stupid or unlucky enough to get in his path and find out how deadly black mambas were.

Rick had been Bill Cipher’s top goddamn assassin. These were hijacked bodies being bossed around by someone who couldn’t even control itself.

It was no contest.

That wasn’t to say they didn’t do their best. Hell, Rick even broke a sweat! By the time he had left a sea of bodies around the ruined restaurant he was panting. It made his chest burn; bruised ribs, at the very least. Blood coated his sword, his clothes, his face and hair. Some of it was even his.

During the skirmish Unity had retreated to the private room. Before Rick followed, he jumped up on the railing and called out to his daughter still writhing on the floor. She had managed to staunch the flow of blood, but after losing so much was too weak to do much else.

“Don’t fucking go anywhere, sweetie! I’ll be right back!”

Unity wasn’t in the room. Rick realized that there was another door on the far wall. It led to a beautiful, snowing landscape. 

Rick stepped out into the courtyard. The only sound out here was the soft crunching of snow beneath his feet. It might have been peaceful in another place, another time.

“Such a beautiful sword.”

Unity walked his way, but didn’t get too close.   
  
“A genuine Sixer creation,” Rick gloated, holding up the sword so it could see the six-fingered insignia. He took some elation at how its eyes widened. 

“Always full of surprises, Rick.”

“It’s w-what I’m good at.”

“One of many things,” Unity chuckled humorlessly. “Oh, Rick. We always did bring out the worst in each other.”

“Stanley brought out the best.”

Unity narrowed its eyes.

“I hope you saved some energy, old man.”

Unity unsheathed its own sword, eyes never leaving Rick. Their blades swished through the chilly air, steel kissed steel, repeat and repeat. Rick knew Unity’s style, just like Unity knew his. 

Rather, Unity knew how he fought when he was controlled, when he was calm and set to take out the target, finish whatever mission he was on. Right now, though, Rick was fighting like a man who had lost everything and was only being held together by vindictiveness. 

Their swords crossed again. Neither gained any ground. Either sliced at the other, and the favor was returned, but no hits that mattered.

Rick was exhausted. Every time the katanas meet it sent shivers to his throbbing ribs. Blood dripped into his left eye from a gash in his forehead, turing half his vision red. It was now, or back to nothingness.

He hurtled towards Unity. Un didn’t flinch, slicing Rick across the chest before he could take the blow. 

Rick paused, arms falling to his side. He looked Unity right in the eyes before crumpling to the cold ground.

Unity gasped, and it rang across the courtyard. 

Rick kept very still as Unity approached. He heard it whisper his name, and remembered when that had been one of his favorite sounds. 

Unity raised her katana for the death blow. That’s when Rick sprang into action. He tossed a handful of snow in the hive mind’s face, momentarily blinding it. Then he plunge his sword through Unity’s stomach. 

Ah,  _now_  Rick could read Unity again. That was the stunned face of betrayal. Didn’t he know that one well?

Unity’s legs buckled and Rick pulled out the sword so it could collapse.

“N-not fair, Rick,” Unity murmured. 

It gazed up unblinking, not really seeing him or the sky. A smile slowly grew on its face, and it looked more serene than Rick had seen in a long time.

“None of this was ever fair, Un.”

The falling snowflakes mingled with fresh blood. White and red went good together.

——

Rick stole a car with a big trunk. Big enough to fit a seventeen year old and her mother.

He stopped on a street overlooking the hospital. When he opened the lid he had never seen his baby girl look so terrified. Summer was still unconscious. Maybe she’d wake up when she was twenty-one.

“Listen to daddy, sweetie. I left you and Summer alive for two reasons. First, because you’re going to tell me what I need to know.”

“Fuck you, Rick! I won’t betray Bill! I’m not like my father.”

He held a knife against Summer’s unknowing throat. Beth’s eyes flicked over her daughter’s prone frame. Then she glanced back at him and spat.

Calmly Rick pressed the knife into her flesh, leaving a thin line of blood.

Beth started talking freely after that.

Rick learned where Gideon had himself holed up, and even that Morty kept close to Bill’s side like a fucking chihuahua.

“Good girl, Beth,” Rick praised. “Now, reason number two I’m not ju-just putting this knife through your black fucking heart even though I should. Because you’re going to tell Bill exactly what happened here. I want him to know what I’ve done so far. I want him to know what I’m going to do. I especially want him to know what I’m going to do to him.” He leaned down, inches away from Beth’s tear soaked face. “I want them all to know shit’s about to get  _Rick-diculous_.”

He scooped his daughter up and pushed her down the slope where she tumbled down into the street below, right outside emergency. He did the same to Summer before driving off.

——

Bill listened as Beth recounted everything that had happened. During the whole story she never looked away from her unresponsive daughter. Mildly Bill considered using some of his remaining power to heal Summer. She couldn’t hold her own against an old man about four times her age, though; she wasn’t worth it.

Besides, with Rick coming for him, why waste unnecessary energy?

“Hm, isn’t that something,” Bill mused as he came up behind Beth and planted a large hand on her shoulder. The one that didn’t have an arm attached to it anymore. “Kinda excited to see what the snake’s got cooking. Hope it’s tasty. Ahhahaha!”

Beth trembled. Oh he hoped she didn’t cry. Usually it would amuse Bill, but in this situation it only served to aggravate the demon. He had one last question to find the answer to, after all.

“So, Beth, I’m curious. Does Rick know Stanley’s still alive?”


	2. Vol. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick Sanchez is closing in on Bill Cipher. First he just needs to take care of Gideon and Morty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At it again with @stanchez-sloppy-seconds‘ Kill Bill au! Enjoy the second part. Oh, and the song mentioned in the story is The Animals - Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood.

Two Pines Wedding Chapel was hot, melting Rick in his suit. The little chapel was surrounded by desert and light poles that sent electricity miles away into the equally minuscule town. The town was boring, full of friendly people who smiled because they didn’t know how to be miserable. Just like the cheery guy eager to marry them and the cheery woman eager to play their wedding music.

To Rick, it was  _perfect_.

“Wow, Sixer. I don’t even know what to say.”  
  
Rick glanced at his fiancé. Stanley was on the phone with his twin. Apparently the genius hadn’t realized what day it was, and had even gone the extra mile by telling his partner the wrong date for the wedding, so now they weren’t going to get in until tomorrow.

Stanley let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah I can hear him in the back. He doesn’t sound happy. Tell Fidds it’s his fault for trustin’ you to be on time.” A chuckle. “Stop apologizing already, Pointdexter. We can postpone the wedding until tomorrow. Rick’s already giving me the thumb’s up, it’s no problem.”

Rick was not. He was rolling his eyes and making a vulgar motion with his hands that Stanley was trying hard to ignore.

“Alright, see you then. Tell the kids hi for me. Oh, and on your way pick up some roses so Mabel can be a flower girl. Great. See you soon, Sixer. Don’t be late again.”  
  
Stanley hung up and sat on the wooden pew next to Rick. He reached over and squeezed Rick’s knee before turning to the pastor who had been waiting patiently.

“Sorry ‘bout that. My, uh, bro isn’t too good with dates. Keeps long hours, never looks at calendars. Thankfully a lifetime dealing with him makes it easier to handle this insomniac.”

Stanley pointed over at Rick who flipped him off. Stanley nudged him, a silent plea for Rick to behave himself. Which they both knew he would ignore.

“Oh, that’s perfectly alright,” Tyler assured. “It just gives us more time for prepare for the big day!”

His genuine optimism sort of made Rick nauseous. He glanced back to the pew behind him where his two friends sat. While Stanley discussed details Rick couldn’t give a shit about he whispered, “I need booze.”  
  
Squanchy pulled out a flask. “Something to squanch your thirst?”

“Squanchy, y-you’re the best!”

Grinning wide Rick snatched the flask and took a generous gulp. Stanley insisted on them being sober for the wedding, considering his grand niblings were going to be there, but since that wasn’t happening quite yet why not indulge?

“Rick,” Stanley sighed. He shrugged unrepentantly. “Excuse my fiancé. He can’t handle the heat. Makes him need to constantly drink.”

“The fl- _urp_ -ask keeps it cool,” Rick added.

“No problem! We have more water in the back if you folks need any. Dan, be a darling and get them some, would you?”

Tyler’s lumberjack looking husband got up and left. Stanley chuckled awkwardly before stealing the flask and taking a swig for himself. 

“Have you all decided on a song yet?” the pianist asked.

Everyone glanced at Susan. They hadn’t, really. The music Rick liked was filthy and not for the ears of kids. Stanley had a thing for older songs that were too sappy for Rick to survive through.

“What about ‘Love to Love You Baby’ by Donna Summer?” Stanley suggested.

“I will die before w-we w-walk the aisle to disco.” Stanley gave him a frown that promised no more premarital sex if he didn’t cooperate. “Listen, I want something you can shake your ass to.”

“You’re a real romantic, Rick.”

Rick wiggled his eyebrows lewdly and reminded, “L-Lee, that’s how we met. It was romantic enough for you to drag me to the backseat of the El Diablo.”

Rick took satisfaction in the shade of red Stanley turned. He decided to finally take pity on the other man. Even if he was adorable all riled up.

“Eh, you pick something. I’ll go along with whatever you choose.”  
  
“No complaining?”

“You knew how I was before I proposed.”

Stanley chuckled fondly. “Right. Do you remember the day after we met?”

“When you pressed my back against the steering wheel and su—“

“After that!”

“What, when I flipped around and—“

Sighing Stanley groused, “You have a one track mind, Rick. I meant when we were lying in the backseat and a song came on.” 

Stanley’s eyes glazed over at the memory. Rick knew exactly what he was talking about. Exhausted from the night before and the morning after, they had laid together in the back of Stanley’s car. A song came on and Stanley had started humming along to it. Rick had listened for a minute before joining in, actually singing the lyrics. He had probably started falling in love with Stanley Pines right in that moment.

“Sap,” Rick teased. Stanley gave him a quick peck before turning to Susan.

“You know ‘Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood’?”

“Can do!”

Tyler clapped his hands together. He gave the to-be grooms a large smile and said, “Wonderful! Oh, you two make such a sweet couple. It reminds me of when Dan and I got married.”

The last thing Rick wanted to do was relive this guy’s hick town romance. He sprung up and announced, “I’m gonna get some fresh air. Lee?”

He held out his hand and Stanley took it. As they walked out of the chapel Rick made sure to call out for his friends to have fun with the pastor. Bird Person grimaced while Squanchy told him to go squanch himself.

Laughing, Rick leaned against the porch railing. Stanley got in close, one hand on either side of the other man. He would have been trapped, if he were anyone else.

“You look damn good in that suit,” Rick said, eyeing him up and down. He licked his lips, imagining Stanley  _out_  of the suit instead. He couldn’t wait to recreate that fantasy once they got back to their motel room.  
  
Stanley cupped Rick’s face and kissed him. It was soft and sweet, and took his breath away. When he pulled back Rick had to force himself not to follow like some desperate kid.

“I don’t deserve you,” Stanley murmured.

“Oth-other way around, Lee.”

Rick nuzzled into the hand still on his cheek. Then, quick as lightning, Stanley pressed their lips together again. This kiss was rougher, more Rick’s usual speed. If his mouth wasn’t so busy he would have smirked and told Stanley to get a room.

Since his mouth was busy, he made it busier. Planting his hands firmly on the other man’s hips Rick pulled him closer. He nipped at Stanley’s bottom lip, made him open up just enough for Rick’s tongue to dart in.

Out-of-wedlock making out on chapel property was Rick’s new favorite sin.

Stanley, in an amazing display of self control, pushed them apart. He was panting, and Rick didn’t miss the bulge in his pants.

“Okay, I don’t think we need to hang around here any longer,” Stanley said huskily. “You go in, grab your friends, and tell Tyler we’ll be here tomorrow. I’m not facing him like this.”

Rick brushed his knee agains Stanley’s crotch, snickering as the other man groaned. He leaned in and blew playfully on Stanley’s ear.

“I can’t go if you don’t let me.”

“When I get you alone in that room, Rick, I’m not letting you out of my reach until we get noise complaints.”

They kissed again before Stanley stepped aside and let Rick saunter back into the chapel. All the while he kept his eyes right on his fiancé’s ass.

Someone giggled behind him and Stanley spun around. His eyes widened at the familiar face.

“Carla McCorkle!”

“Stanley Pines. It’s been a while.”

“It has been, yeah. Wow, you still look great.”

Her mouth quirked upwards. “Not my best look. So, Stan, what are you doing in front of a chapel?”

Stanley grinned wide, sweeping his hands out. “It’s my wedding day! Well it was supposed to be.”  
  
“Oh, no. Runaway bride?”

“It a, uh, groom, actually. And no. You remember how flakey Stanford can be. Messed up the dates so we’re doing it tomorrow.”

“That sounds just like him.”

“Enough about me. What’re you doing here?”

Carla laughed and tilted her head in such a way that the sun glinted down, making the whites of her eyes appear yellow.

“I’m here for a wedding, too. Funny coincidence, isn’t it?”

“I can only imagine the man lucky enough to marry you.”

“Oh, I’m more interested in your groom, Stan. Is he inside?” Stanley nodded. “Perfect. You know, I’m just missing one thing.”

“For your wedding?”

“For the wedding. What’s that old saying? Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. Right?”

“Yeah, that sounds like it.”

She flashed him a dazzling smile. 

“Well, then, how about you give me something borrowed and I’ll give you something blue. Deal?”

Carla held out her hand and Stanley took it without hesitation. Just as he was about to ask what they’d be exchanging, blue flames engulfed their entwined hands. Then Carla laughed, a dark cackle he had never heard from her before.

Inside, Rick turned when he heard Stanley’s footsteps. The pastor had been chattering on about something and Squanchy, the spiteful bastard, had been encouraging him. 

“H-hey, Lee. We were just about to—“

Rick stopped, going rigid as soon as he saw the yellow in Stanley’s eyes. God,  _no_ , this couldn’t be happening.

“Don’t leave on my account.”

It was Stanley’s body, Stanley’s voice, but with Bill Cipher’s familiar tilt. 

“B-Bill, how did you find us?”

“You got sloppy, Sanchez,” he replied giddily. “Hope you don’t mind me giving you my wedding gift early.”

That’s when the others came in shooting.

Rick tried to shut out the memory, but it was no use. He could still hear the bullets ripping into his friends, the pastor, the chapel walls. 

Vividly he could recall the out of place smirk on Stanley’s face. The destructive gleam in his eyes that shouldn’t have been there. The utter joy on his face as he approached Rick, knowing Rick couldn’t fight back while Bill was in that body.

Rick rolled over and stared listlessly at the Pussy Wagon’s interior. The sweater from the twins was under his head as a makeshift pillow, and he rubbed the soft material between his fingers. He tried to ground himself in the present—it was a losing battle.

Sleep didn’t come for quite a while.

——

Gideon’s mouth was set in a thin line as he listened to Bill, pressing the phone almost painfully against his ear. He hadn’t interrupted the demon—first because he knew better than to anger that creature, second because he was truly flummoxed. 

“And that’s the story so far, kid.”

“My goodness,” Gideon breathed. “Bill, you’re telling me that Rick singlehandedly mowed down all of Unity’s collection?”

“Hey, I don’t recruit second best.”

Gideon giggled. “Of course not. So he really has a Sixer sword?”

“Made just for him,” Bill confirmed, and Gideon noted a hint of  _something_  he couldn’t quite decipher. 

“Oh my. Stanford knows how to keep a grudge.”

“I bring that out in people.”

Thinking better than to agree with that, Gideon merely hummed.  “Naturally Rick will come after me.”

“Well, you did help crash his wedding. Anyway, just wanted to give you a heads up. Try not to get killed. It’d be a hassle to replace you.”

Who could ask for a more considerate employer?

“Thank you kindly, Bill. I’ll give you a call after Rick and I cross paths. He’ll get what’s coming to him.”

Gideon slid the phone back into his jacket, all thoughts on Rick Sanchez. An old man he had hardly known but fully loathed. He had no time for sentimental morons like him. People like Rick were a dime a dozen; they’d give up their power and talents for something as silly as  _love_.

Besides his criminal bodyguards, Gideon did not enjoy the company of people. Mouth-breathing fools, the whole lot of them. Sniveling, aggravating, means-to-ends. At first he had thought maybe Rick was better than that. Blame it on the poor judgment of youth.

Of course, Bill didn’t have that excuse. 

Gideon noticed his most trusted confidant, a burly man named Ghost Eyes whose name was quite apt, was regarding him. He seemed contemplative. 

“Something on your mind, old friend?”

“Just wondering if Rick isn’t in the right, tracking us all down. After all, we did slaughter everyone at his wedding, and Bill possessed his fiancé. All because Rick wanted to lead a different life. Then Bill turns around and encourages us to find different pursuits until he needs us.”

“Do we deserve to die?” Gideon mused, giggling at his own question. “Oh, well, probably. But why make it easy for Rick?”

“I just worry about the hypocrisy,” Ghost Eyes continued. “We were enforcers of a law that was then immediately repealed.”

“Enough!” Gideon snapped, weary of the subject now.

“Sorry. I did major in philosophy.”

——

Rick could appreciate the feeling of being out here, the middle of a desert surrounded by dirt and rocks and absolutely no other soul for miles. Like two sides to a coin it both extenuated and exacerbated a deep loneliness.

Probably not the healthiest environment for a kid, but what the hell did he know about any of that?

At least the stars, stretching towards eternity, were beautiful. Not that Rick had a good vantage of that underneath the trailer. He watched as Ghost Eyes pulled up, getting out and opening the door for Gideon. Then the twerp got on his shoulders, Ghost Eyes giving him a piggyback ride inside.

Rick waited to the count of ten then rolled out from his hiding spot. He eased over to the door, mindful to stay close to the trailer incase anyone peeked out the window. A song started up from inside, something slow and southern, and Rick used this opportunity to unsheathe his katana. He barely noticed how it glinted hungrily.  
  
At the bottom of the door was a small gap, just perfect enough for Rick to peer into and see Gideon’s little feet dangling in a rocking chair across from the entrance. He glanced over at the window; Ghost Eye’s silhouette stood out against the drawn blinds.

Rick charged, flinging open the door. He was surprised when a shotgun went off and he was flung back. He gasped, grimacing at the pain exploding in his chest. Rick writhed on the ground, cursing through gritted teeth.

Gideon’s visage appeared above him. He chuckled like Rick was a child who had done something particularly amusing. 

“Maybe that’ll settle you down. My, but I can’t imagine how that must sting, Rick.”

He tried to spit out a retort, but all that came was blood. Bright red flecks splattered across Gideon’s face. Slowly the boy brought out a handkerchief and wiped them away, movements eerily reserved. Then Gideon rolled Rick onto his stomach, taking pleasure in his pained grunts.

The next thing Rick knew something was jabbed into his ass, and he saw black.

Gideon took out his phone and started dialing while he walked over to a lawn chair. As he made himself comfortable a familiar hateful voice answered.

“Gideon.”

“Morty! So lovely to hear your dulcet tones.”

“To what do I owe this displeasurable call?”

Gideon took great pride in informing, “I just caught an old dog that refused to be caught.”

“Did you kill him?” Morty kept his voice level, but Gideon could hear the underlying eagerness.

“Not yet. You know I’m one for showmanship,” Morty snorted but Gideon ignored him, “and I’m just trying to decide on the most fitting end for your  _grandfather_.”

There was a low hiss on the other end, and Gideon couldn’t help grinning as he imagined the other boy’s expression. Silently he motioned for Ghost Eyes to bring him Rick’s sword.

“Anyways, guess what I have in my widdle ol’ hands.”

“What?”

“A brand new, hardly used, genuine Sixer sword. Stained only in deeds, not on the blade.” Was that a pitch or what?

“How much?” Again Morty tried to sound neutral, and again Gideon saw right through him.

Gideon stroked the weapon reverently. My, it was gorgeous. Too good for the likes of Morty, but then, business was business.

“Tomorrow morning be here with one million in cash and I’ll give you the greatest sword ever built by human hands. What do you say, Morty?”

“I say we have a deal. On one condition. Make Rick suffer to his last breath.”

Gideon let out a little giggle. “Why, of course.”

“Then I’ll see you in the morning, millionaire.”

It was the happiest Gideon had ever heard him. 

——

The full moon shone down on the cemetery, basking it in more than enough light for the task at hand. Gideon smiled to himself, pleased as punch, while he watched Ghost Eyes dig.

“I do believe that’s perfect.”

From the corner of his eye Gideon caught Rick twitching awake. He listened to the old man cough, watched him weakly test his bonds. 

“Wakey wakey, Sanchez.”

A snap of his fingers and another bodyguard yanked Rick from the truck bed. He was deposited on the rough ground, and Gideon loomed over him. He said nothing at first, merely glancing to the left. Rick followed his gaze, eyes widening as he saw Ghost Eyes climbing out of a freshly dug grave.

This didn’t bode well.

His eyes snapped back to Gideon. The little bastard looked like a hyperactive kid in a candy store.

“You pint-sized son of a bitch,” Rick snarled. 

“I refuse to be subjected to such language.”

Gideon clapped his hands and the men bent to pick Rick up. He struggled, but the effort was futile; they easily subdued him. Gideon, for good measure, held something up to his eyes.

“Have you ever been maced, Rick?” Rick stared silently at him. “Oh, I hope you have. Now, if you don’t calm yourself and let these two do their job nice and simple, then I will show you how bad this feels. Either way, you will being going underneath the ground tonight. As a hospitable gentleman, I’d like your stay to be as comfortable as possible.”

Rick kept his mouth shut. Gideon smiled amicably and reached into his jacket. He brought out a flashlight and shined it directly in Rick’s eyes, causing the man to squint against the glare.

“Very good! I’m such a good host I’m even going to let you have this. That way your final moments won’t be spent in complete darkness. More than you deserve, don’t you think? But I always have been a very giving soul.”

Rick was lifted and dropped into a pine box like something out of a goddamn western. Gideon threw down the flashlight which landed on his chest. He let out a grunt but bit his tongue.

Gideon stared down, self satisfied smirk on his annoying face. Then with one last giggle and wave he said, “Tootles, Rick!”

Then the lid was closed. Rick listened to the nails being hammered in, each thud eliciting a wince. When the final nail was in Rick was thrown into darkness, a state he was far too familiar with at this point.

He really started to panic when dirty was thrown on the lid. With more and more weight he could hear the wood starting to warp. It sounded ready to break at any moment, unleashing tons of earth that would instantaneously crush him.

Rick felt for the flashlight and flipped it on. There wasn’t much to see. Just his bound feet and cracking prison. But when the final shovelfuls landed on his grave, at least he could see that the lid held. Though he could hear it moaning.   
Rick made a strangled sound halfway between laugh and sob. He lifted his head an inch, then let it fall. Again and again he did this, trying to clear his head. He just need to calm down, keep from panicking. Panicking used up oxygen faster, using up oxygen meant suffocation, suffocation was an end to his revenge, and that was not an option.

First, he breathed in through his nose. Then he let it out through his mouth. Nose, mouth, nose, mouth. His eyes fell closed. Nose, mouth. Nose. Mouth. 

Okay, better. Now he just needed to remember.

——

The twins were already in the garden when Rick arrived. They were giggling and whispering to each other, little bodies poking out from under the bench. Curious, Rick quietly crossed the distance between them. He paused a moment, watching, before suddenly speaking up.

“The hell are you two doing?”

Startled, they both jerked up and hit their heads. Dipper whimpered, but Mabel recovered fairly quick. She hopped to her feet, avoiding another collision, and flashed him a dazzling smile. 

“See for yourself!” she invited.

Rick quirked an eyebrow, hand on hip. Ever relentless, Mabel slid into his personal bubble and just looked at him with those earnest eyes until finally Rick had no choice but to give in. 

A twin on either side of him, Rick crawled under the bench and looked up. It was covered in drawings.

“Every one represents someone,” Mabel explained, pointing to a shooting star. “This one’s mine! The little dipper is Dipper’s.”

“Here’s Grunkle Ford’s,” Dipper said, indicating a six finger design Rick was well acquainted with. “These glasses are Grunkle Fidd’s. And, um…”  
For once Mabel didn’t jump in. She didn’t need to; Rick could guess whose mark this was.

“Stanley.”

The twins nodded. Rick reached up and touched the strange design—like some fish-esque creature getting ready to gobble up a dot. It was weird and nonsensical, and so much like Lee.

“W-why are some of them overlapped?” Rick asked, pulling his hand back. 

“Not overlapped,  _intertwined_ ,” Mabel corrected. “To show how much we love each other.”

“This is the twin corner,” Dipper explained, motioning towards where a pair of combined designs were. 

The top one was Ford’s six fingers with Stanley’s bizarre insignia in the palm. Below that was Mabel’s star flying into the little dipper.

“And here’s the romance section,” Mabel said. “It’s a little bare right now, but we were thinking…”

The area in question only had one double mark: Fiddleford’s glasses draped over six fingers.

“It’s probably silly, and he’s not, um, with us anymore,” Dipper started.

“But we thought maybe you’d want to memorialize your relationship with our grunkle,” Mabel finished.

Rick didn’t have to look at the kids to know how hopeful they were. They were laying their emotions out bare for him in a way only kids could. So Rick took the marker from Mabel and pressed it to the wood. He debated for a minute before drawing that fish thing getting ready to chomp down on a coiled snake.

“It’s beautiful, Rick!” Mabel squealed, throwing her arms around him. Since the space was so cramped he ended up with tiny arms practically smothering him.

“Grunkle Stan would have approved,” Dipper decided.

“Sentimentality d-definitely runs in your family,” Rick griped with no real heat.

Someone cleared their throat and the three slunk out from under the bench. Ford eyed them in amusement, trying and failing to hide a smile. 

“Can I borrow Rick for a minute, children?”

They agreed and Rick followed the other man inside. He led Rick to a back room where there were a bevy of tools and other objects laid out on a low table. Ford knelt beside it and Rick joined him.

“As we discussed, it’s imperative that you have other aides if you find yourself in less than ideal situations. Unfortunately it’s hard to procure the necessary ingredients for most of the magic I know, however I did have some spare unicorn hair lying around.”

“W-what did you do to get unicorn hair? Y-you sure as shit ain’t pure of h-heart.”

Ignoring the question, Stanford picked up a small vial of some strange liquid; instead of one solid color it was a swirl of greens, blues, purples. 

“This concoction, when ingested, will power an insignia I’ll place on you. It will fortify your body. You won’t be impervious to harm, but it will greatly broaden your body’s threshold for damage. For instance, a blow that would normally kill you might only sting. Unfortunately this will only last a short amount of time, and is something I’d try to save for Bill if I were you.”

Rick nodded. He examined the contraptions on the table, asking, “What kind of insignia?”

“It needs to be something of your choosing. A design that you equate with strength, safety, protection.”

There was a pen on the table which Rick picked up. He doodled a design that made Stanford’s face instantly soften. 

“That will do the trick, I think.” He cleared his throat. “Right. So this goes on your skin via branding.”

_Fantastic_. Still, Rick didn’t complain. He watched Stanford’s nimble fingers take one of the instruments and mold the end into the needed shapes. When the heated metal eventually seared his skin, Rick didn’t cry out. He focused on what was important: revenge.

——

Due to his naturally lithe frame, there was just enough room for Rick to wiggle out of his boots. At a painstaking pace he pushed them up between his legs until his fingers brushed against the leather. He pulled the right one up to his chest first, clenching the flashlight between his thighs. 

Rick fished out his switchblade and started sawing at the rope around his wrists. It took a few minutes until they unraveled, and he tried not to breath too deeply. Hands free once more he quickly snatched the other shoe and took out a vial of multicolored liquid. 

“Okay, Stanford,” Rick mumbled to himself before downing the drink. 

The brand on his arm, a strange fish about to devour a snake, tingled. Then he felt rejuvenated, as though he’d had a refreshing nap instead of being buried alive. Rick grinned and got to work.

Rick chose a spot on the lid above him and struck out with a fist. It stung like a bitch, but not as bad as it should have. He struck again, again,  _again_ —until his knuckles were raw and bleeding. Then he let out another volley of hits to the wood.

The pine box didn’t last too long. Soon it splintered, and dirt began trickling inside. Rick sputtered as some covered his face, but never stopped his assault. 

Finally the wood gave out. With a tremulous sound it collapsed and the coffin was filled with earth. Rick squeezed his eyes shut and steadied himself. There was nothing separating his body from the pressure of several tons of ground. The magic Stanford had spun held out, though, and Rick wasn’t crushed under the weight. 

Now was the hard part.

The newly moved soil was moist and cool, making it a bit easier to move. Still, the process was slow and Rick had no idea how long the sigil would hold out. So Rick dug. He pushed the dirt and mud aside, swallowed any that made it into his mouth so it wouldn’t fill up and he could keep breathing. 

Rick climbed all six feet; it felt like twelve. When he punched up and his fist broke the surface Rick let out a disbelieving laugh. His head came up next and Rick took a gracious breath. He’d never tasted such sweet southern air.

He grasped for a good hold, but it was hard to find. Rick nearly sunk back down a few times before ultimately dragging himself out of the grave. Flopping down on solid ground he took a moment to rest and catch his breath. The tingling from his brand faded away. 

“Th-thanks, Lee,” he murmured to the still night.

——

The sun was high and blazing when Morty walked up the trailer’s steps, red suitcase in tow. He was greeted by Ghost Eyes who ushered Morty in. Gideon was waiting for him, looking comically small in his seat. Morty, allowing himself the barest smirk, took the recliner across from him.  
  
“Been a while since we’ve been in the same room together,” Gideon commented innocently.

And just like that the smirk was erased. The last time the two had been face-to-face they’d brought a building down around them. Morty had broken both his legs; Gideon escaped with only superfluous scratches, obnoxiously enough. 

“What did you do to Rick?”

“Oh, I gave him a proper Texas Funeral.”

Morty rolled his eyes. “What does that mean, Gideon?”

Gideon leaned forward, grinning from ear to ear. “It means I buried him alive, you uncouth swine.”

“Jesus.”

“You wanted him to suffer to his last breath. I’m a man of my word.”

“I have to give it to you, Gideon. It’s a perfect end to Rick.”

Morty spied a katana leaning against the coffee table. Its sheath positively gleamed.  
  
“Can I see the sword?”

Gideon indicated the case by Morty’s feet. “Is that my money?” He nodded.  “Then by all means, Morty, do whatever you want with  _your_  sword.”

Morty got up and went over to the sword, aware of Gideon’s gaze following him. Ignoring the other boy, he reverently took hold of the Sixer and turned it over in his hands. He ran a thumb over the designs on the sheath. Then, with a flourish, he revealed the blade. He inhaled sharply; it was genuine. 

“Finally, I have my very own Sixer sword. Beautiful.”

“It is quite the blade. Not my weapon of choice, of course, but good craftsmanship should be admired.”

“Good?” Morty snorted. “You mean superb.”

Gideon made no reply to that. Instead he clapped his hands and pointed a chubby finger at the suitcase. Dutifully, Ghost Eyes took and set it on the table. He unzipped it as Morty re-sheathed the sword. The bodyguard opened it, revealing the stacks of bills tightly packed.

“We both have what we wanted,” Morty said. “I should go. I told Bill I wouldn’t be long.”

As he made for the door Gideon stood and came over. He snaked an arm around the taller boy and led him to the couch, grip too strong for Morty to shrug out of.

“I insist you stay and chat a moment. See, I’m awfully curious about how you must be feeling right now.”

“Besides annoyed?”

With a glance at his subordinate who had started counting the money, Gideon let out his trademark giggle. “I mean, think of it, Morty. They say the number one killer of old people is retirement, and isn’t that just what happened to Rick? He tried to leave his old life behind but, hee, it did him in anyway.”

“It’s quite apropos,” Morty agreed, eyeing Ghost Eyes. “I don’t understand what you’re getting at, though.”

“What are you feeling, knowing your grandpa’s dead? Hm?” Gideon batted his eyes innocently at the other, now scowling, boy. “What emotion is taking ahold of your heart, Morty? Relief that he’s out of the picture, or regret that now you can never face him and prove yourself?”

“Gideon, you little bastard!” Morty snarled, rising to his feet.

Gideon howled with laughter, kicking his feet out in mirth. “All this time you wanted to show that old man up, and here I beat you to it! And do you know how easy it was? Yet, even if you were in my position I don’t think you’d be able to pull off the same thing. Good thing Bill left things in my widdle capable hands.”

Morty pulled out the katana, brandishing it in front of him threateningly. Gideon merely smirked and motioned towards Ghost Eyes. The man had sprung to his feet and was ready to charge at Morty if he made another move towards his boss.

Something stirred in the suitcase. Morty watched as the snake he’d packed in there stuck out, sinking its venomous teeth into Ghost Eyes. The man feel to the floor with a holler, writhing in pain.

“Ooh, boy, Gideon. That doesn’t look good, does it?” Morty said in faux concern. “Black mamba bites can kill a human in up to four hours. He took it to the arm, right? I’d say he could be dead in as little as twenty minutes.”

Gideon had never been this pale. Morty drunk up the sight of his cowering companion with glee. 

“You know what I regret?” Morty asked, not expecting an answer. “That such a great assassin as Rick was taken out by a dressed up backwaters hick with no appreciation for our craft.” His voice had risen with each new insult, and now he took a deep breath. To himself he murmured, “Rick deserved better.”

Without warning Gideon rolled off the couch and away from both the dying man and Morty. From his umbrella stand he pulled out a katana of his own. Not a Sixer, but at least he was armed.

“You traitorous fiend! You’re dead for this Morty Sanchez!”

“Do you even know how to wield that? I thought your little goons did all the heavy lifting for you.”

Gideon swung at Morty. The other boy easily sidestepped it. With an angry cry Gideon lunged forward, striking their blades together and nearly dislodging Morty’s weapon. Eye widening, Morty twisted away. Gideon kept coming, however, and Morty deflected his blows. 

He watched Gideon’s breathing, noticed how he was quickly tiring. Morty went on the offensive and feinted to the right. Gideon fell for it, and Morty sliced down. Gideon made a choked sound, clutching his bleeding forearm.

“Your endeavor is adorable, but I really do have to be getting back to Bill.”

Morty raised his sword, fully prepared to end this. The door burst open, though, and both boys spun to face the intruder.

“Wh- _urp_ -at’s up, bitches?”

There was a beat of silence as Rick examined the boys and the boys examined Rick. Then they started screaming.

“You’re dead!” Gideon declared.

Rick shrugged; lots of people had that mistaken thought before.

“What was that about your ‘widdle capable hands’?” Morty taunted, sword in front of him defensively.

“Well, now’s your chance to prove yourself, Morty. Go get ‘im.”

“Me? Why not you?”

“You have the better sword!”

Rick took a step forward saying, “Th-that belongs to me, Morty. Hand the sword to grandpa.”

Suddenly the fear on Morty’s face morphed into rage. With a yell he swiped at Rick who jumped back. Morty tried again, but knocked into a chair. He lost his balance, and Rick used the opportunity to distance himself. Gideon, likewise, had inched away from either of his opponents.

“Morty, give me my sword. You know what happened to your mother and Summer?”

“Mom isn’t a fighter! And, and I’m not like Summer. I’m better! Bill says I have real potential.”

Rick rolled his eyes . “Oh, wow, Morty, t-trusting the words of a literal demon. That sounds l-like a great plan.”

“S-shut up, Rick!”

Morty came at him again, stabbing out with the katana. Rick picked up a book lying nearby and quickly used it as a shield. The sword stabbed it instead of the man. Rick pushed against the blade with his hardcover, driving Morty back. 

They passed the old TV set Gideon had, and Rick ripped off one of the antennas. He dropped the book and waved the new weapon through the air; it made a satisfactory  _whoosh_.

Morty went back on the offensive, hacking wildly at Rick. The man easily parried his onslaught. He found an opening and thrust the tip of his antenna into Morty’s good eye.

An ear-splitting scream left Morty, and the boy clutched at his eye with one hand. The other waved the Sixer in front of him erratically. Rick couldn’t get close.

There was a sound to his left and Rick’s head snapped to where Gideon had pressed himself against the counter in an attempt to stay out of the warpath. Rick went over and plucked the sword out of his small hands.

“Give that back, old man!” he demanded.  Rick almost laughed at the kid’s gall. 

Gideon hopped up, trying to snatch the weapon back. Rick put his hand on Gideon’s forehead, stopping the little brat.

“Mark my words, Rick Sanchez, you are a dead—“

His threat was cut off as Morty came hurtling at the pair. Rick ducked away from the kid, and Morty went careening into Gideon. They collided on the floor and Rick watched their scuffle. 

Mostly they slapped at each other, Morty managing to keep a grip on the Sixer. He couldn’t use it in the awkward position, however, especially since Gideon did a decent job of pushing the hand holding it away.

Gideon reeled back and landed a punch square on Morty’s jaw. Enraged, Morty clamped his free hand around Gideon’s neck and pressed hard. 

Just as Gideon was starting to turn blue a hiss caught everyone’s attention; they all stilled. Morty scrambled off of Gideon. The other boy was too weak, and the snake too fast. It stuck him in the face several times and Gideon’s screams filled the camper.

The black mamba slunk away. Neither Rick nor Morty could tear their gaze from the dying boy as he took his last raspy breaths. He didn’t last four hours; he didn’t even make it to twenty minutes.

Morty spun on Rick. Once more he held the katana in front of him. Rick adopted a similar, more well practiced stance.

“D-don’t do this, Morty. I came here to kill him. I don’t w-want to hurt you.”

“Don’t act like you’ve ever cared about me, Rick!”

“W-what the hell do you mean? I saved your life, Morty!”

Morty let out a humorless laugh, jabbing a finger towards his eyepatch. “You did this to me! Summer and me both were always compared to you, even after you ditched us, even after you went into that coma. Oh, but Unity took a liking to her,  _pampered_  Summer. I had to work twice as hard as her, and still Bill wanted to mold me into another you.”

“G-get to the point, Morty.”

“You’re such a dick, Rick. I lost my eye trying to take care of a target, and just when I was about to get the upper hand you swept in and took all the glory!”

“You were a kid, Morty! You shouldn’t have even been on a mission, especially by yourself. I tracked you down and kept you from losing more than just an eye. You’re welcome.”

“Damn it, Rick! Maybe with you out of the way for good I can finally get out of your shadow.”  
  
Morty ran at him with a yell. Their swords crossed. Morty pushed with all his might, but Rick held his ground. The night, and morning walking back, had drained him, however; he was straining to match the boy’s strength. He needed a new  tactic. 

Fast as lightening Rick reached out and plucked Morty’s last eye right out of its socket.

Morty recoiled. He dropped the sword and clutched the empty socket. Blood drenched his face, running down like a crimson waterfall. Blindly he stumbled around, screaming even louder than Gideon had.

“Rick! You bastard!”

For a minute he simply observed his grandson as he bumbled into the furniture, the walls, and finally tripping over Ghost Eyes’ corpse. He landed on the floor roughly, banging the side of his head against the coffee table. 

Rick tossed the eyeball into Morty’s lap. He dropped Gideon’s katana and reclaimed his Sixer, wiping it off before sheathing it. 

The black mamba hissed at him. Rick turned, eyebrow quirking unimpressed. The snake made no move towards him.

On his way out Rick picked up an abandoned cellphone. He dialed 9-1-1.

“Yeah, this is Gideon Gleeful. A black mamba got into my camper. I need paramedics stat.” He glanced back at the destruction he was leaving behind. Morty was still cursing him at the top of his lungs in the other room. “No, it d-does not look good.”

He hung up and walked outside. The sun blared down relentlessly, and Rick squinted against the light.

——

There was only one name left on Rick’s list. Last, but by no means least: Bill Cipher.

And here Rick was, right outside his hacienda. His fingers twitched in anticipation, and with a steading breath he whipped out his pistol. Rick picked the lock and slid inside.

The lights were all on, but no one was in sight. He crept around, ears straining for any sound of the target. For a moment there was nothing. Then the singing started.

“ _Baby, do you understand me now_?”

Rick froze.

“ _Sometimes I feel a little mad, but don’t you know no one alive can always be an angel_?”

The words were a little off key, coming from a gruff, all too familiar voice. 

“ _When things go wrong I seem to be bad_ —”

It couldn’t be. It was impossible! As impossible as waking up from a four year coma after being shot point blank in the head.

“ _But I’m just a soul whose intentions are good—oh lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood_.”

“L-Lee?”

Hope that he hadn’t dared feel in so long sparkled in Rick’s eyes as he turned around. There, half hidden in the shadows of the doorway, was Stanley’s familiar silhouette. Rick’s hands fell to his side. He wanted to rush over and embrace the other man. As if reading his mind Stanley took a step towards him. 

His eyes shone yellow in the light.

A visceral sound left Rick. 

“Bet you’ve missed this face,” Bill said. “I change a few things, of course. Needed to get it more to my liking, you know? Shaving was a must.” Bill stroked his smooth face. “And of course I had to get a new change of clothes. There’s an amazing amount of shirts with triangles on them. Sometimes you meatbags get things right.”

Bill chuckled like he had made a joke, which in his mind maybe he had. The demon spun around to give Rick a full view of his outfit. 

“Of course, not everything’s changed.” He held up his left hand, wiggling the fingers. “Look! I even kept your wedding ring. Every time I try to take it off Stanley freaks out. It’s hilarious.”

Humming to himself, Bill adjusted the wedding band. He paused and looked off to the side. Then he smirked, as though amused by something Rick wasn’t privy to.

“He’s still here in the back of our mind. He was so quiet when you were in that coma, but oh boy—once you woke up he wouldn’t stop talking. Until I threatened to mutilate the body, of course. But now that you’re back so is his lip.”

Again Bill looked at empty space. He grinned and shook his head almost fondly.

“You meatbags get so sentimental over each other. Which is great, because it’s so fun to watch the pain in your eyes right now!” As though realizing he had been the only participant in their conversation Bill taunted, “You’re just standing there, Rick. What are you waiting for, a kiss on the cheek?”

“B-Bill…” Rick’s voice was hardly above a whisper. “You’re still in L-Lee’s body?”

“What, Fordsy didn’t tell you? He had to know, he’s smart enough to put two and two together. Then again, you humans have an amazing capacity for denial.”

Several things clicked into place. Rick made a mental note to punch Stanford in the goddamn face after this was all over.

Rick straightened, holstered his gun. He walked over to the bar and rummaged around Bill’s stash. He could feel those eyes following his every move.

“Time punch? You’re a sick fuck, Bill.”

Rick grabbed a bottle of the illegal substance and poured two glasses. Bill approached him carefully. He sat on a stool and grabbed the second glass. He grinned a little, clinging them together before both men downed their drinks.

The alcohol burned his throat like nothing found naturally in this dimension. A few tears prickled his eyes but he blinked them away.

“So, Rick, before this whole thing reaches its climax, there’s something I’ve been curious about.”

“Shoot,” Rick deadpanned, causing the demon to grin.

Bill put his elbows on the bar counter and leaned over. “What made you betray me?”

Rick took another sip of the punch, this time straight from the bottle. He slammed it down and let out a belch.

“I don’t think y-you’ll l-like the answer.”

“Try me.”

Rick looked him right in his— _Lee’s_  eyes and told him, “Love.”

Bill’s stark laugh rung out through the estate. He wiped an imaginary tear away.

“That’s rich, Rick. That’s really rich. But that’s not good enough.” Expression darkening he demanded, “I want to know exactly what happened.”

“Y-you want a fucking story, Bill? All the gory, gushy details intact?” Bill’s eagerness was palpable. “Fine.”

Rick took another swig and began his tale.

——

The bar wasn’t well lit; they used “ambience” as an excuse to save on electricity. What kind of ambience the owner was going for who knew. This wasn’t an establishment for romance, it was an establishment for shady ass deals and getting drunk enough to forget everything running around in your head.

Rick was there for both.

His mission was find and take out his target. Rick went up to the bar and ordered a drink. While he waited his eyes scanned the patrons. In lieu of his target, however, he found a face he hadn’t seen in years. A face Bill wanted to skewer.

Rick made his way to the booth, mission forgotten. The other man was staring out the dark window, nearly empty beer bottle in one hand.

“Stanford Pines.”

Startled, the man glanced up. He smiled ruefully and held up a hand, wagging five fingers.

“Sorry, wrong guy.”

That was right, Stanford had a twin. It was something he had never really talked about except once when he admitted to Rick that he wanted to keep his family as far away from the life he was leading as possible. Lucky bastard had succeeded where Rick hadn’t.

Maybe it was curiosity about Ford, or maybe spite—regardless, Rick introduced himself.

“I’m Rick. Used t-to work with your brother.”

“Figures. Stanford always gets to meet the cute ones first. I’m Stanley.”

Rick sat down and ordered them a round. They hit it off quickly, and soon they were walking out together pleasantly buzzed. Right around the corner was a place that actually knew the meaning of the word ambience. 

Rick danced to the filthiest songs, Stanley made him laugh with cheesy lines, and both got drunker. Eventually they made their way to Stanley’s car and the rest of the night was put to damn good use. The morning, too.

It was the first time Rick had fallen asleep in someone’s arms in a very long time.

He should have gotten up. He should have tracked down his target again and finished the mission. He should have returned to Bill and been happy with one night of cutting loose.

Rick didn’t do any of those things. Instead, Stanley drove off with him in the passenger seat. 

——

Bill’s brow was furrowed. “I don’t get it.”

“T-told you so.”

“So you did that thing humans do, that naked tussling full of fluids and chemicals, and  _bam_ —you suddenly turn a new leaf?”

“Nope.” Rick calmly poured himself another glassful. “I already w-wanted to leave. Lee just made me feel good, gave me a reason to.”

Rick emptied the glass again at an impressive speed. Bill watched him, still obviously confused.

“Did he tell you I proposed? H-he was going to go visit Ford and the kids, trying to convince me to go with him. I told him I’d meet the family only if he married me. So he did.” Rick swallowed down another shot. “Was going to.”

“It was rude not to invite me,” Bill said.

Rick smashed the bottle against the counter, shattering the neck. “F-fuck you!” 

He came in very close to Bill, inches away from his stolen face. Bill smirked; he knew Rick couldn’t do anything to him like this—wouldn’t do anything to Stanley.

“Get out of his body, you d-demented triangle fuck.”

“How many people have you killed, Rick? People with families, kids, husbands?” Rick flinched. “But suddenly now since it’s your  _loved one_  you act so indignant. Like you have a set of morals.”

Softly Rick replied, “I never claimed to be a good man.”

“That’s one of the things I always liked about you! You know what you are, and where you belong. At least you used to. Really, I did you a favor. This sentimental old fool was tricking you into become just like him.”

Rick averted his eyes. This just encouraged the demon.

“Hey, no hard feelings. You came back to me in the end, that’s what matters. And you know I’m a forgiving guy, Rick. So, let’s make a deal.”

Bill waited for Rick to turn back to him. He gave a face-splitting grin.

“Work for me again, Rick, and you can keep Stanley all for yourself. I’ll go inhabit some other puppet, maybe one of your little grandkids, and you two can play house. I’ll even get you guys your own little place close to mine! Maybe something with a private beach. Humans find that romantic, right? What do you say, Rick?”

Bill held out his hand expectantly. Rick glanced down at it and took a deep breath.

“Stanford says hi.”

Before the demon could react Rick performed Ford’s secret technique, striking each vital point on Stanley’s possessed body. He pulled back and watched.

At first all that happened was Bill’s eyes widening. He mouthed something that very well could have been  _impossible_  before suddenly he was ripped from his corporeal form.

In one swift movement Rick pulled out his sword and sliced right through the exposed demon. Bill wailed, cursing him in an ancient language. His triangle shape broke into a million pieces, scattering like dust in the wind.

Stanley collapsed and Rick was instantly at his side. He cradled Stanley, whispering his name.

“C-come on, Lee. Please be okay. D-damn it, I promised your niblings I’d come back alive. If you, you c-can’t come with me…”

Stanley blinked groggily and gazed up at Rick. His lips formed a smile and he reached up. Rick pressed his cheek against Stanley’s hand.

“I dunno, Rick, I sorta like the idea of owning a place with its own beach.”

Rick let out a laugh that was more relief than mirth. He hugged Stanley tight to his chest, and they staid like that for a while. 

“Heh, I missed you, too. Bill was right, though. You have turned sentimental.”

Face pressed against Stanley’s hair, Rick’s words were muffled. Still the other man could make out, “Fuck you, Lee.”

Later, when they could finally pull themselves away long enough, Rick helped Stanley up. Together they walked out of the estate and into the garage where Bill had apparently kept the El Diablo. Probably in some sort of twisted humor that no one else could get but him.

Whatever the reason, they drove off laughing.

——

Rick came to with a start. For a moment he panicked. Then the body next to him shifted, and Stanley draped an arm across his chest.

“Nightmare?” he asked.

Rick reveled in the familiar weight and settled back into the bed, scooting closer to Stanley.

“Sorry I woke you.”

“Didn’t. I couldn’t sleep.”

Truthfully Rick didn’t think he’d try again. He didn’t voice this, though, simply finding Stanley’s hand and threading their fingers together.

“By the way, family reunions are gonna be awkward now.”

Stanley snickered. He tried very hard to keep it at that, but soon Rick was laughing freely and he joined him.

“Good thing you have my family,” Stanley said when they caught their breaths. A smile flitted over Rick’s face.

“I’ll have t-to show you the game the kids and I came up with. It’s an improvement on an american classic.”

“Can’t wait.”

A companionable silence fell over the pair. Which was fine—they had the rest of their lives to talk. For now, they simply enjoyed the presence of each other. Something both thought they’d never get to experience again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurs to me now I've orphaned this dimension's Wendy.


End file.
